


Things Forgotten

by Janatee



Series: Barneswald [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Doctor Who, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2477213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janatee/pseuds/Janatee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He wandered around with a slight limp, hair greasy and tangled. He looked like he could use a shower and a good meal.<br/>'Hello?' she offered tentatively, stepping out from behind the pine.<br/>The man whipped around, shrinking back when he saw her.<br/>'Who are you?' he demanded.<br/>'I’m Clara,' she said gently, 'I’m a friend.'”</p><p>Clara finds Bucky wandering in the Whispering Woods, and tried to help him. But there’s more to him than she could ever guess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on Prompt 84 from promptsforall and was originally posted on soufflesimmons.tumblr.com

“And don’t forget to practice your poems for next week!” shouted Clara over the hubbub of children.

“Yes, Miss Oswald,” came the unified reply.

“And Samuel, don’t forget you’re helping me clean the chalkboards tomorrow!”

“Yes, Miss Oswald,” said Samuel, with slightly less enthusiasm.

 

After all the students had filed out, she erased the blackboard and slung her bag over her shoulder. Walking out the door, she breathed in deeply, letting the cool fall air fill her lungs. The trees in the Whispering Woods swayed back and forth, bright leaves in a beautiful array of nature’s colors. She jumped around as she walked towards the woods, crunch after glorious crunch of the leaves sounding underfoot.

 

Smiling to herself, she rested on the rock and traded her nice black shoes for her favorite old pair of boots. _This is a caramel apple sort of day,_ she thought as she hopped off the rock. Her books made soft thumps each time they hid the worn grass. She stepped onto the log bridge, careful not to slip into the creek. She still held her hands out for balance like she used to do with her mother.

 

The creek whispered below her. The noise had been louder than usual lately, but it was like that every October. Folks used to warn her about the spirits that lived in the Whispering Woods, but she never believed it. _That’s the one good thing about living in such a superstitious town,_ she thought, _I’m always alone here._

“Hello? Helloooo?”

 

Clara gasped and quickly covered her mouth with her hands. She walked slowly off the bridge and made her way to the voice. She ducked behind a tree when she was close enough to see it.

“It” was a him. He wandered around with a slight limp, hair greasy and tangled. He looked like he could use a shower and a good meal.

“Hello?” she offered tentatively, stepping out from behind the pine.

The man whipped around, shrinking back when he saw her.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I’m Clara,” she said gently, “I’m a friend.

“How did you get here?”  
“I…walked? How did-never mind. Do you need help getting out of here? I know these woods pretty well.”

He shook his head.

“Can you-can you just stay with me?” he said, “Just for a little while. I’m trying to find the log bridge.”

“Oh, I just came from there!” she said, “Come on, it’s this way.”

 

 

She began walking back the way she’d come. He hesitated for a second, then followed her.

“What’s your name?” she said gently.

“I…don’t know,” he admitted.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Sure you can,” said Clara.

He just looked more agitated.

“You’ve got dog tags around your neck,” she said, “Bet those’ll give you some help.”

The man felt around his neck, and looked surprised to find the cold metal chain. He squinted at the tags.

“James Barnes,” he said.

“There you go,” she said, “Nice to meet you, James.”

“Nice to meet me, too.”

 

***

 

They walked together for a ways before Clara piped up again.

“So is there anything you do remember? Your mum? Your friends? Where you’re from? Favorite food?”

“Nothing,” he said, hanging his head, “Sorry to make such a bad conversation partner.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied.

 

 

“Ooh!” Clara shouted a minute later.

She bent down to pick up a particularly bright red leaf.

“Isn’t this a good one?” she said, offering it to James.

“What do you do with it?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll put it in a book to dry, and when it’s done, I’ll tack it up next to the others. I do it every fall; it’s my favorite time of year.”

James nodded as he listened.

“You seem very nice,” he said simply.

 

***

 

They finally reached the bridge.

“Here it is,” said Clara, “What’s the big deal about this specific bridge?”

“I got the feeling it was special,” he said, “But I can’t remember why.”

Clara peered at him. _Poor man probably has amnesia. Or something worse._

“Let’s get you into town, alright?” she said, “Maybe there’s someone there that can help you.”

 

They made their way to the town, Clara nearly forgetting about James’ situation as they walked and laughed together.

“And then she looked up, and I was covered, absolutely covered in mud. I just about-James?”

She turned around. _He had been here just a second ago…_

 

 

“James!” she cried. She ran back through the woods.

“James, where are you?”

She called and called, but only heard the wind in the trees and the whispers of the creek. Darkness was coming fast, and her coat was not enough to protect her from the biting cold.

 

***

 

Clara tossed and turned, but finally gave up and stared at the ceiling. _Where did he go? Was it her fault she lost him? Was he safe?_

She certainly hoped so, whoever he was.

Hours later, Clara realized she was never getting to sleep. She got out f bed, grabbed her coat and scarf, and left.

 

She walked through the town. The lights were all out, but the moon left a pale glow on the dirt path. She followed it to the library and went inside. She turned on her flashlight and made her way to the back room, where the town records were kept.

 

Shelves and shelves of records from nearly a hundred years loomed above her. She grabbed a ladder, wheeling it towards the leftmost shelf and cringing as the horrendous squeaking cut through the silence of the night. She carefully climbed to the top. She was going to find out where James Barnes had come from.

 

***

 

She ran to the woods bright and early the next morning. He was at the foot of the log bridge.

“James!” she cried, “I found out something! You’re not the first James Barnes. Your dad or your uncle or someone died in the Second World War. Your family has to be around here somewhere!”

She put her hands on his shoulders.

“We’re going to-”

She stopped. Her hands went right through him. She frowned.

Bucky sucked in a breath. He tried to touch her cheek, but again, his hand went right through her.  
“I don’t think that was my father,” he said.

 

***

 

Clara wasn’t about to be stopped by something as trivial as death. She visited him after school, and they would talk together until sundown. Every day, Clara brought a toolbox into the woods, and every day little pieces of a cabin came together. James couldn’t lift or touch anything, but he provided good company. 

 

Some days, he would blurt out something, like “I had a dog names Theodore,” or “My favorite food is cinnamon rolls” or “People called me Bucky, once.” Each time, she would write it down in a little notebook.

 

The last week, she made him sit facing away from the cabin while she worked. When everything was officially finished, she had him close his eyes and follow her voice inside.

“Okay,” she said, “You can open them now.”

He did, and his whole face lit up. She’d made her best effort to put in extra touches, a hand-quilted bedspread, a shelf full of books, even a few pressed leaves tacked onto the walls.

 

She watched him nervously.

“Is everything okay?” she said.

“Everything’s fine,” he said, blinking back tears,“It’s perfect.”

 


End file.
